LEITURAS SEM SENTIDO

Lua Nova, 03 de Abril de 2011


Adoro ler! Sinceramente, não me importo muito com o que leio... Claro que o facto de gostar do que estou a ler diferentes resultados e certas pessoas sabem disso.
A minha literatura preferida é prosa. - não sou muito fã de poemas, embora haja alguns de que goste... Prosa essa que, de preferência, inclua alguma misticidade (magia, anjos, vampiros, demónios, dragões...), drama e romance. Livros de terror, mistério, policiais e romances históricos também são muito importantes...
Não consigo referenciar livros preferidos. A sério! Cada um me marcou de maneira diferente e não consigo colocá-los numa hierarquia sem me sentir culpada ou estar constantemente a trocá-los de um lado para outro. Não, não gosto de tudo o que li... Mas dos que gosto, não têm nenhuma ordem preferencial.
Quando olho para as estantes e prateleiras ocupadas pelos meus livros só penso: preciso de mais uma. Mesmo não tendo a livraria que gostaria de ter, ainda consigo ter livros espalhados pela secretária e pelo banco. "Porque é que não sacas alguns e-books?" Bem... Para além de não querer incentivar à pirataria *cough cough* detesto ler livros nos computadores! Para mim, nada substitui o prazer indescritível de ler um livro. - desculpem árvores sacrificadas devido à utilização de papel. O cheiro do papel, o som do folhear, o próprio acto de folhear e o facto de o levar para onde quiser, sem correr o risco de ficar sem bateria e não haver tomadas.
Acho correcto dizer que sou uma leitora um pouco compulsiva. A maior parte do tempo não leio, porque preciso de me concentrar, nomeadamente, nas aulas. Mas quando leio, leio... Não faço muito para além de ler, a não ser que me obriguem a parar - normalmente, aos gritos para ir comer. Alguém uma vez disse «Quando começo a ler, deixo tudo... Não o livro, mas o que me rodeia». É exactamente isso que me acontece! Quando leio algum livro de que gosto entro numa espécie de transe em que tudo o que me rodeia desvanece e só existo eu, o livro e a minha imaginação a correr a mil-à-hora. Entro dentro da história e consigo ver claramente o que se passa em redor dos personagens e com os personagens! Na verdade, é quase como se fosse um deles... Nesses momentos é que pode a casa ir abaixo que eu, provavelmente, nem dava conta: passo folhas e folhas sem me dar conta do tempo passar e não me importo com isso. O problema é que o resto do mundo se importa... Principalmente, se estão à minha espera! Quando tenho de interromper esse transe a que chamam leitura, não faço outra coisa se não pensar na história no que já li, como irá terminar e no que gostaria que acontecesse depois do final do livro - quase, quase como uma obsessão...
Quando penso em como gostaria de ler alguma coisa nova - porque muitas vezes durante o tempo de aulas só re-leio para não ficar muito obcecada pela história, que mesmo assim continua tão excitante como na primeira leitura - um dos pensamentos seguinte é, quase sempre, o quão deprimente deve ser o analfabetismo. Pessoas que nunca tiveram a possibilidade de ler um livro. Pessoas que nunca tiveram a hipótese de chegar a casa, pegar num livro, abri-lo e ver alguma coisa para além de caracteres indecifráveis. Pessoas que, provavelmente, nunca conseguiram libertar-se deste mundo e entrar noutros tão mágicos e diferentes.
Ver um filme adaptado de um livro é o equivalente a ver o que outros leram... Há pessoas que nunca tiveram a possibilidade de ler e "fazer" o seu próprio filme. Isso deprime-me... Maioritariamente, por saber que não há ninguém que lhe leia algum livro.
Quando era mais nova nunca ninguém me leu histórias, porque, sinceramente, ninguém em minha casa gostava muito de ler... Se queria saber o que era cada letra, como é que se liam certas letras juntas ou o que significavam certas palavra tinha que andar a perguntar: acabei por aprender a ler mais cedo! Lembro-me claramente de andar com livros de BD do Mickey, pato Donald, tio Patinhas, etc. a perguntar coisas dessas aos meus avós. Mal aprendi a ler razoavelmente bem - ou seja sem fazer perguntas a ninguém - não me lembro de ter parado de ler.
Sempre que leio tenho a oportunidade de sair deste mundo de preocupações e entrar num que, dado os meus gostos, nunca poderia conhecer na realidade. Mas é para isso que existe a ficção! Para nos fazer sair de nós e ser outra pessoa, dar-nos um novo sentido à vida e desenvolver a nossa imaginação.
É uma daquelas coisas que adoro fazer. Se me impedissem de ler, estariam a impedir-me de viver - ou, no mínimo, a tirar-me o prazer de o fazer.

PRISÃO

Lua Nova, 04 de Março de 2011


Não percebo nada. Sinceramente... Não percebo o porquê.
Porque é que me é tão difícil atravessar este muro? Não fisicamente: bate-me apenas um pouco acima da cintura; mas psicologicamente... Emocionalmente.
Atrás dele, tudo é diferente: o cimento é substituído por terra, os edifícios por árvores, todas as cores monótonas substituídas por outras mais vivas!
Passo horas a imaginar o que há por detrás do que consigo ver... Como seria, se entrasse naquele universo completamente diferente?
Quantos dias passo a olhar para ele?
Quanto tempo passo a pensar em como seria "Se..."?
Quantas horas passei sentada em cima do muro, sem nunca me atrever a mais do que a pôr os pés em cima da terra coberta de folhas mortas do outro lado... Sem nunca deixar aquela barreira que me separa... Me separa. Do quê? Liberdade? Não... Ou sim. Não sei... Mas separa-me de algo que quero.

Mais uma vez, sento-me neste muro e penso "Porque não?", mas logo em seguida os meus movimentos ficam restringidos por correntes invisíveis. E essas sei o que são. O que me mantém nesta prisão dos meus próprios sentimentos!
Por isso... Em vez de transpô-lo, fico no mesmo sítio: nesta espécie de fronteira... Esperando algo, alguma coisa. Algo que não me deixe apenas como observadora... Alguma coisa que me faça tomar a decisão de agir, sem medo!
No entanto, nada acontece e acabo sempre por nunca atravessá-lo e voltar para o mesmo lado de sempre: dentro da minha própria prisão de monotonia.

FALLEN

Lua Nova, 03 de Fevereiro de 2011


I can't believe it.
I'm free.
I managed to run away. I can feel it all. The mud splashing beneath my feet, the leafs whipping my limbs and chest, the rain dripping from my hair right down on my face and back. And I'm running. Running. And it feels so good.
No more needles, experiments, torture or anything. I'm allowed to do whatever I want. And so, I laugh... The sound of my laughter pierces my ears. It had been so long since I've heard myself... My voice. These cries of pure joy.
I've been closed up in that lab for half a century. Had gone through awful things. And I wasn't the only one. Though it pained me, I haven't helped my companions... But there was no way I could. Or I'd be captured again... But I will help them. Right now I'll search for others of my kind.
I should be miles away, even though it had passed only a few minutes... And this "little" run has been enough to put my blood flowing. Let's speed up, spread wings and... Soar... In the bluest of the skies. He still remembered his first flight (not one of his finest moments) but it still felt the same. He heard the movement of his wings following the tempo marked by the beating of his heart.
I'm free. Free to reach the sky. The excitement make my heart thump faster, but... This is too fast. AAAAARRRRGGHHHHHHHH!!! MY BACK! It burns...

I open my eyes to see grey. And to feel an excruciating pain on my back. I shivered covered in cold sweat. all those monochrome colors and metallic sounds around me made me realize that I was back into my cell... Correction: that I was still in my cell. Apparently I never left. It was all an hallucination.
I tried to scream knowing that no sound would ever leave my throat. My hands made their way up to feel the stitches of an old surgery where they cut my vocal cords.
I needed something.
I tried to bring my left wing forward to warm me up. It hurts but I have to try. Why can't I see it? Where is the white tainted by the colors of sunrise? I turn my back to the people watching me all-high-and-mighty in their lab coats, scribbling and whispering to each other as I realize that my wing had been removed... All that was left was some kind of cut bone in each side of my back.
I lay still enduring everything. I bring my knees to my chest and cover my face in a feeble attempt to hide the shame of being wingless. No matter how much I try to use the muscles that supported my wings it only brings more pain.
The others are probably in the same state. Now we're nothing but deformed creatures.
Fallen angels that will never have the chance to rise up again.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Lua Nova, 04 de Janeiro de 2011


How can it be? How can you do this to me? Everything was okay before you appeared: I was top student, all the girls looked up to me, some boys admired me and the great majority of the male students feared me. And I was okay with that... I was perfectly fine. As the president of the student council I was respected. All of them acknowledged my work.
Then you came. You entered my life and turned it upside down. I had to see you, not only in school, but in my part-time job too, that I really don't know how the hell you found out, most likely you stalked me with yours out-of-this-world-pervert powers and I seriously tried my best to put you out of there.
You took away my place as the student with the best grades and even manage to get some of the guys looking up to you because of your "influence" on me. I treated you as the rest of the boys and you didn't back off and feared me... No! You got closer and teased me even more! Always teasing, teasing, teasing! What's up with that?

What on the entire Earth makes you care for me when all I do is pull you away? I was able to keep my emotions at a quite stabilized level except when I dealt with those crazy-hormoned-guys who can't leave the poor, fragile minority, us girls are in this school. Honestly, how would they hang on without me.
But you... You... You changed everything! I swore I'd never care so much about a person of your disgusting race of cheating liars! Yet, you made everything within your power to make me trust you. And I do! And I don't know why...

This turmoil of feelings inside me... I want to express them. But this anger... This frustration... It's impossible!
I want you to disappear... But I don't want it at the same time: I don't want you to leave my side!
I want these emotions to go away... Yet, I can't part with them.
I hate you and what you did to me... However, I think I love you more than I am able to feel and all I want is your love back: I love those moments when you look at me with those incredibly green eyes and repeat over and over again I love you. Even when you're doing it only to tease me and see my "interesting expressions".
I hate my blushing and stumbling with words whenever I want to tell it back to you, that something I'd sworn I'd never say. But you're blushing as much I am and you have a surprised face like this would only happen in a dream... And then you show that loving smile that makes me wish I was able to say it one more time.

Tell me.
How did this happen? When did this happen?
When did we get together? Were we even apart?
How did I fall for you? How did you make me love you?
Why do you love me? Why did you always loved me?
Will you keep loving me?

ONCE UPON A TIME

Lua Nova, 5 de Dezembro de 2010


"Once upon a time there was a little girl.
This little girl was like many others... Had family, friends and dreams.
This little girl lived happily through every day.
One day, she grew up.
One day, everything changed."
_____________________________________________________

"Yeah, yeah..." She said not too sure what she answered to. Lazily, she got upstairs and locked herself in her room. The dim light reflected her figure on the mirror across the room. It looks like I'm looking to a stranger. The hard truth was she was no longer a little girl and people had expectations. Too high, for my liking. Her parents have expectations.
She walked to her bed and sat down... Being eighteen is too much of a pain in the ass. As she glanced to the pile of homework to do and notes to study, she decided to leave it to the next day. She lied down and intently watched the ceiling: it was full of the drawings she had done through the years... Why the ceiling? Well, the walls were filled by the age of 10. Now they're empty... Though she replaced some of the old drawings by newer ones, all of them were now in a box under her bed, next to some texts she used to write too but never showed anyone. Well... At least ALMOST all of them...

Two years ago... When "it" happened, she couldn't save a couple of them... They were shattered in front of her tearful eyes. She cleaned a lonely tear that prickled her way down her cheek and tried to ignore the knot on her throat.
When she was younger, her parents would keep all the drawings she made for them and encouraged her passion. Some years after, they only complimented them, but no longer cared so much about them. Then, she started to do it only for herself... Everything had to have doodles, sketches or drawings on them, even in school... And that, that was her biggest mistake.

One of teachers complained about her constantly drawing after and sometimes during tests and other moments of evaluation. When they got home a handful of the drawings on the walls were ripped off and turned into nothing but garbage. "Life is not made of this trash..." She whispered to herself not remembering of ever hearing more offensive words. She cried the rest of the afternoon that day and the next one she didn't show any sign of weakness, grieve, pain or anything to her parents. Not then, nor ever since then.
She turned into the best student in her class. All the time she used to spend talking and bonding with family were changed to study... Her mother often asked her to join them in the living room, but she always had to study something, read some literature or had homework to do.

Her parents felt happy now. She was fully committed to studies and in having grades. She was finally a great woman and would be a very important person in the future.
Now, she was unhappy. She felt hollow. She was empty.
At first, it was difficult. All the emotions and stories she wanted to put in paper whirled inside her head making it so harder to stop herself from put her pencil on the paper and let it all flow. Even when her hand, absent-mindedly, started to draw, she would erase it as fast as possible. This was so painful that her own soul was shred to pieces along the way.
She didn't want to feel this way. She always dreamt with her happy ending. How can I have a happy ending, if the rest of the story isn't happy at all?

Silently, she got up and moved to the drawer with her old pencils, rubbers, markers and blank paper. She dared to take one sheet of paper and grab a pencil. Turned on the light bulb over her desk and asked herself What if... ?
Would it be worth the trying? Everything she worked for to block these feelings would be thrown to waste; all it took was allowing the pencil in her hand touch the paper in front of her.
Anticipation rushed over her and she did it.

How many time went by since she started, she didn't knew. The dawn was breaking into the sky when she finally stopped, put down the pencil and lifted the paper in order to admire what her mind intended to show her all this time. What her heart had been crying out loud this past years. When she did she cried.
She didn't try to stop those tears... She didn't want to.
The image... It's me. She sobbed louder. She'd drawn a younger self, as she remembered herself to be; Not what the mirror showed her. She'd drawn her drawing and smiling... The last time she had truly been happy.
Some teardrops smudge parts of the lines. She didn't feel empty for the first time in many years. She was happy.
_____________________________________________________

"One day, she learned to listen to anyone but herself.
One day, she started to live again.
Now, the shreds of her soul are fixed.
All it took was a drawing on a brand new sheet of paper and a turn of a new page of her life."

HOW DOES IT FEEL?

Lua Nova, 6 de Novembro de 2010


Can you feel it? That disgusting feeling of something crawling on your skin?
It's fear... Your fear.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. The thump-thump is so loud in your ears that you can swear that anyone could hear it... That it's resonating in the walls that surround you.

You're so small now... At least, that's how you feel like. Isn't it so terrifying? So nerve-wrecking?
As you see, it's easy to sweep you out of your feet.

I can see you. Everyone can. You thought you were better than the rest... That you were different! Stupid.

Scream as loud as you want... Panic won't help you. Who'd say you were so easily frightened?
The way you're freaking out it's nearly amusing, only if it wasn't so pathetic...

Are you cold? Or those shivers are just out of fear? What do you fear for?
Your life? Do you think you're going to die? Oh. So pitiful.

I bet that all you want now... All you long for... Is a hug.
Hearing my voice whispering in your ear and engraving this words in your mind... It's enough to chill your blood... And feel nothing but cold. All you want is to feel human heat again... You want someone to comfort you while you cry your eyes out.

Don't worry you won't die. At least, not now.
I just want you to understand how worthless you are.

You're not different from me: a unimportant, meaningless person; easily replaced.
Understand this and accept it. It's a universal truth.

You want to be acknowledged, but what is there to acknowledge?
Can you see me in this darkness? Behind the surface we're the same: just flesh and bone.

Look me in the eyes and tell me what you see? A person. Exactly I'm just a human being.
Now close your eyes and don't worry... Next time you'll open them, you'll be safe and probably you won't remember... But deep inside you'll notice something has changed.
Are you still listening?
Then, please answer me.
How does it feel?
...
How does it feel to be like me?

SANTUÁRIO

Lua Nova, 7 de Outubro de 2010

Acordo e preparo o pequeno-almoço silenciosamente. Visto uma camisola com capuz, uns jeans, umas Converse antigas e estou preparada. Acabo de pôr umas coisas no saco. Fecho o zipper do casaco e pego nas chaves.
Há pouca luz a entrar no quarto e ainda ninguém (para além de mim) está acordado... Nem em casa, nem no prédio, provavelmente.
Vou até à cozinha e escrevo uma nota a avisar que saí de casa, para quando os meus pais acordarem não ficarem preocupados.
Destranco a porta fazendo o mínimo barulho possível, saio e volto a trancar pelo lado de fora.
Quando saio do prédio reparo que não há movimentação nenhuma, exceptuando alguns camiões que passam numa ponte afastada daqui. Bem, o sol já nasceu por isso não mete medo nenhum andar por aqui sozinha (de noite também não, mas é preciso ter um pouco de cuidado se nos cruzarmos com algum javali que apareça na estrada).
Ponho-me a caminho, sem pressas... Levantei-me um pouco cedo, por isso posso dar-me ao luxo de passear e aproveitar a vista. É incrível como faço este percurso todos os dias, mas nunca tenho oportunidade de ver a beleza e o silêncio em que se encontra a estas horas.
Ando do lado junto ao bosque e apanho algumas flores (adoro fazer isto e deixá-las nas fechaduras das portas de outras pessoas ou então numa mesa ou cadeira, mas acabam sempre por ser deitadas fora e não percebo bem porquê; se fosse eu guardava-as). Quando passo junto ao estádio vejo uma data de coelhos que entram num frenesim para se esconderem, mal me vêem e eu como não quero estragar o pequeno-almoço deles não fico ali muito tempo e continuo a andar.
Adorava ter uma câmara fotográfica comigo, nesta altura, para poder fotografar a paisagem ao meu lado: a luz do sol que passa por entre as brechas formadas pelos eucaliptos e pinheiros, a evaporar o orvalho da manhã formando um nevoeiro muito subtil... A única palavra com que poderia descrever a beleza do cenário seria "mágica". Quem me dera poder guardar esta imagem... Mas se trouxesse a câmara fotográfica, depois não tinha sítio para a guardar! Tenho de arranjar um dia para vir para aqui e ver se volto a conseguir uma imagem destas.
Como já estou perto da minha paragem faço uma mini-corrida como aquecimento e chego num instante ao local pretendido. Fico feliz por ver poucos carros estacionados e entro. A diferença de temperatura é mais do que razoável, mas isso só me faz gostar mais deste sítio.
Entro nos balneários e preparo-me. Procuro um cacifo vazio, do qual não me esqueça do número e meto a mochila lá dentro. Fecho tudo, pego nos óculos e na toalha e passo para a enorme divisão adjacente.
Ahhh... O maravilhoso cheiro do cloro! Não me importava de passar os dias inteiros na piscina... No entanto, só lá posso estar uma hora. Vou para as bancadas, à espera que terminem os 5 minutos restantes aos turnos dos outros nadadores e vou escolhendo uma pista que esteja com menos gente (não sou muito fã de estar a nadar com pessoas desconhecidas). Esta humidade quente, o cheiro a cloro e o barulho da água (e alguns apitos de professores de natação) são tão relaxantes, que tornam este sítio o meu santuário. Venho para aqui sozinha e, durante uma hora, sou só eu, os meus pensamentos e uma pista.
Quando vejo uma pista vazia, levanto-me passo pelo chuveiro, ponho os óculos e entro. Finalmente, sinto-me à vontade. Ninguém repara em mim, ninguém me julga, ninguém me conhece e, mais importante, ninguém me chateia.
Começo a nadar e tudo à minha volta deixa de ser importante... Sinto-me tão livre, que nada nem ninguém me conseguiria parar. Se me impedissem de nadar, eu acho que uma grande parte de mim morreria. Toda a minha raiva e frustração é libertada em cada braçada, fazendo-me sentir viva e cada pensamento flui facilmente à medida que avanço na água.
Quando me quero sentir melhor, escolho uma pessoa que esteja a nadar numa outra pista e faço uma corrida com ela até a ultrapassar. E ao fim de uma hora, a única coisa que quero é fazer mais uma volta.
Sempre que saio da piscina sinto uma felicidade enorme inexplicável... Só sei que o resto do dia estou completamente hiperactiva e estupidamente feliz.
É uma pena só ter tempo de visitar este "local sagrado" uma vez por semana.

TOO LATE - 2/2

Both my parents died and left me alone with my younger brother. I understood that my life had to change. I didn't want that some stupid organization came and separated us: he was my only family and I was his. I postponed my dream for a while... Just until it all got into track. Then I'd keep on dreaming!

After a year my brother got sick... Really sick. He was diagnosed a death sentence. I understood that was time to convince myself that my dreams were stupid and I dropped school. He was more important.
I started working. Then my brother got worse and I had to get him in the hospital. The doctors didn't allow him to leave. I got multiple jobs to sustain my brother's medical cares. I only visited him in the hospital, told him stories that I invented (he loved them), slept there for 4 hours or less (we didn't have a house anymore) and then leave for work again. There was no such things as dreams... Maybe I should've been just content the way my life was.

One day he died. I was there and I couldn't do a thing to help him. The doctors said it wasn't a painful death. How would they know? They weren't the ones who died! I didn't go to work that day (or the next one) I spent the rest of the day holding him and telling him stories.

Of course he didn't hear me. He was so cold by now and all I could was cry over him. I probably looked like a fool... But I didn't want to let go of lasted of my family! Of me!

When I was forced to leave I didn't fight back. I had no strength. All I wanted was to die. I was constantly thinking of ways of killing myself without destroying other unpreoccupied human beings passing by, content with their lives.

Then I saw a little boy (probably with the same age as my kid brother) he was boring his sister to death (who was so busy texting and chatting with other friends) with his whines but she kept declining her brother's pleads to play with him.
She doesn't know how lucky she is! I'd give everything to trade places with her and have my brother alive.
She keeps ignoring him until she has enough and sends him away... The poor boy backs down with shocked eyes and turns away running without seeing where he was heading. But I was. He was running to the middle of the traffic! And without thinking twice I was on his heels. His sister didn't notice the truck heading to him! Didn't notice her brother standing on the road unable to move a muscle in fear! She was the one who diserved the pain of losing a brother!

It hurt everywhere. I felt like I was being stabbed by hundreds... No, thousands of sharp blades through my body and my chest was on fire! I had taken the place of that kid on the road and pushed him away of the other vehicles and got hit by the truck. His sister finally noticed what was happening and looked at me with a mix of terror, disbelief, disgust and relief. When the crowd blocked my view I gave thanks for helping her understand that there are more important things than the futile conversations she was having. Shouting to her brother could have been the last thing she did with him...

I saw red all over. I was sure that most of my bones were broken and my lungs were, probably, crushed because blood was gushing out of my mouth like I was a stupid fountain! That and the pain. It was excruciating!
However, my mind was somewhere else... Somewhere far away of this sad reality I was younger and surrounded by my childhood friends. We were all claiming our place in the future. "What will you be?" one of them asked me. "Me?" I stood there a bit embarrassed with all the attention on me... "I'm gonna write all the stories that I imagine so that people can dream like I do! I'm gonna be the world's best writer and win at least ten Nobel prizes!" I said with a cheeky grin plastered on my face.
But the only person who ever listened to them was my brother... At least he dreamt until the very end, always planning how our life would be once he got better.

Why is that life is never easy for those who dream?

I took my last breath.
Now? Now is too late...

"... and then you die."

TOO LATE - 1/2

Lua Nova, 8 de Setembro de 2010

"Life sucks...

I never knew much more than my hometown... Same house, same friends, same old routine. I wanted to get out of here, no matter where... I just wanted to leave!
I mean... It's not that I didn't aprecciate what I had: it was enough. More than enough: it was a great life.

However, it was different than what I expected it to be as years went by. I expected that my friends were like me. We used to dream about became famous and leave our mark in world History... It didn't matter what was the dream: we were going to be the bests ever!
Then we grew up.

We started to disband: some left to foreign countries and others found something more important than their old friends. The major group still hangs out from time to time, but even so, the dreaded truth is that we grew apart. I used to belong to the third criteria and I watched as things reached this point.
We'd go out and talk about school, future and... Past. That's when things get pretty out of hand on my side. They'd talk about those "stupid dreams" and laugh at them. I hated it! At first I'd bash out without saying anything (sometimes even pushing some of them along the process), then I learned that they didn't understand they were wrong and every time the conversations were headed that way I'd just change the topic or make up some lame excuse to leave.
They didn't understand that our dreams weren't stupid! That were those dreams that got us keep moving on with the hope to achieve them... It took me some time to realise that I was the only one who kept those dreams burning alive deep inside my soul... That my friends had given up on them. They had a good life now... Why change it? They were content.

Well... I wasn't.

But if God does exist, He sure spends His precious time making us suffer.
And surely enjoys it.

REMEMBRENCE

Lua Nova, 8 de Agosto de 2010

A boy stands by a window, just like he did years ago. The look on his face shows something that, usually, one isn't allowed to show: emotions. So many memories I'd rather not have.
Besides, we're talking about "Him". The first and last boy (until now) who killed a Redeemer, one of the few who escaped this Sanctuary - though he was the first who did it sucessfully - with two more acolytes and returned alone after months, was allowed to stay alive and live there as nothing ever happened. The one and only Thomas Cale. In the Sanctuary, everyone knows that he never shows anything so frivole as emotions... As a matter of fact, he is known for not having feelings towards anyone. That's almost true... I do not show my feelings often. Sometimes I think I've burried them for good, but then I see something that makes me remember her and then I have a mixture of weird feelings that I can easily hide as I've come to learn all these years.
Now he was 21 years old. Since he returned, he was given a room with a door (the key that he proudly carried around his waist, had given him a superior status, when compared to the other children). After all, pride is my worst sin.
Among the acolytes, he was feared as ever... However, now the Redeemers couldn't touch a single strand of his hair: they were aware of the danger that represented for them. They would be either killed by him or by the Lord of the Lords - his "protector".
He had been outside the Sanctuary many more times, all for the sake of a successful plan. My plan.
First, small villages that weren't even on maps. Then the outskirts. Most of the small countries have already disappeared. The Sanctuary had trained some boys that were already infiltrated in the security of the "big" countries. It was too easy. Everything and everyone would be annihilated.
But one there was only one thing: the last familly to be killed would be hers. The Materazzi family.
The family where she belonged, his former lover. He would never forget her and all they live through... Therefore I will never forgive her!
When Arbell betrayed him, his world fell apart. He fought for her, he'd die for her... All for her love. And he thought that she'd love him too. I was so wrong, so blind that I missed the big picture: she would never love a monster like me.
She gave up of everything he had given her for saving her family. He meant nothing for her. That's why he left her with a similar poem written by her great-grandfather that she held dear in her heart. The only difference was that it was a threat and she would remember every sentence of it until the last breath of her short life... I'll make sure to say it out loud, while I kill her taking my sweet time enjoying the sight of her beautiful eyes wide in fear, her pale body shaking and her mouth screaming silently because she's mortified of me.

I am bound to you with cables that not even God can break.

One day, if there is a soft breeze on your cheek, it may be my breath;

One night, if the cool wind plays with your hair, it may be my shadow passing by.

That night she'll see... Now I am a monster.




P.S.: Eu não tenho quaiquer direitos sobre The Left Hand of God.
As personagens, o seu passado e o poema (c) Paul Hoffman
Fiz este texto apenas porque me apeteceu fazer um pequena fanfic deste livro, pelo qual fiquei viciada...